


Sin

by Olfactory_Ventriloquism



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-23
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-20 00:05:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1489354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olfactory_Ventriloquism/pseuds/Olfactory_Ventriloquism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A visit to Napoleon's coronation, an alien doomsday device, and a holier-than-thou nun make for a great time for our favorite duo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It never ceased to amaze Rose how being immersed in a new culture could make you see everything in a new light. She was too stubborn a person for her fundamentals to be trifled with, but when she had to play a part to fit in, little things would be changed. Like that time on Velox 4 where everyone was obsessed with their hair. Not only was Rose grateful that she’d just been back to mum’s to have her roots done (something she still thought the Doctor timed on purpose but couldn’t prove), but she found herself spending a bit extra time in the morning preparing it.

 

A smile graced her face as she recalled that by the time they left, everyone was so grateful to the Doctor that the new style was the crew cut. Everyone was doing it. The Doctor had put on a fake pout when she refused to let her new friend, Timah, all but shave her head.

 

“I have to live with him,” she’d said. “I don’t need to look like him.”

 

“You don’t like the way I look?” He’d asked pitifully. If his lower lip stuck out any further, he’d trip on it.

 

“I think you’re gorgeous.” Rose responded truthfully. “I just don’t think I have the ears for it.”

 

Rose sighed fondly at the memory. This time had been different. This time what the culture prized had been modesty. Rose had always thought she was modest. By estate standards, she was practically prudish. 

 

But, she’d learned, by Napoleonic Europe’s standards, she was worse than any slapper, for all that their idea of Lady Liberty was a woman whose top had been ripped to show off her eerily pointed breasts.

 

From what she could tell, they’d gone there on a lark. Napoleon’s coronation sounded like fun. Jack had been particularly excited. 

 

“Hell, that guy’s famous in my time.” He’d said. “We gotta love a man with big enough balls to take the crown from the pope and put it on himself.”

 

“I refuse to comment on the fact that your lot just likes people with big balls.” The Doctor said dryly. Rose blinked. She was ninety percent certain that he knew what he’d just done. At any rate, it spared her saying it.

 

Of course, while they were there, Rose just had to ask why the crown didn’t look like the one in the painting; the Doctor just had to recognize it as some doomsday device, and it just had to turn out that there was some alien plot to make Napoleon emperor of Earth.

 

They’d ended up staying for three weeks. In Vatican City, arguably the most holy city in the world. Certainly the most holier-than-thou. Turned out some alien was impersonating the pope. To give a dictator the power to rule the world. Rose really hoped that his more planet had a word for ironic.

 

Rose had never been more pleased to leave a place. It had to be all the insane rules that were driving her nuts. The first day, Rose had been dressed to the nines to see the coronation. The Doctor hadn’t looked at her twice, though Jack’s wolf-whistle had elicited the usual glare. This was normal. This was expected. Rose comes out in a dress which has a bodice that flaunts her cleavage, for all that if comes from a supposed age of gentility, and the Doctor hardly grunts. It was standard operating procedure. It was safe for both of them.

 

Maybe the three weeks of being in the women’s quarters, three weeks of women’s work, three weeks of collars that came up to her chin and skirts that swept the ground were what caused this insanity that plagued her.

 

Despite the psychic paper declaring the Doctor to be her guardian, nothing could spare her from the fate of the maiden’s quarters. She was an unmarried woman, and that was that. Rose still felt the Doctor could have fought a little harder on her behalf. He’d been just a little too eager to have her ensconced in gossip central to see what she could find out.

 

“When in Rome, Rose.” The Doctor had said with a dopey grin and a shrug while Jack rolled his eyes and took a step back, out of range of Tyler fury.

 

Rose glared at the Doctor. “You’re just saying that because we’re actually in Rome. You don’t have a curfew of sunset.” She groused.

 

It was the next day that Rose started to hallucinate. It was the only way to describe it. She was provided dresses that didn't expose an inch of skin that wasn't part of her face or hands. But, for all that, it still tried to not waste an ounce of cloth. Each one was a muted color: greys and browns and black, and each one was skin tight until it reached the skirt where it flared gracefully around the round of her bum. Every swell, every dip, every curve was perfectly followed. Almost as if it was tailored for her. Still, she could move in it, and it never much mattered what she wore as the Doctor never paid any attention, and there was no one else she really wanted to impress.

 

The very next time Rose saw the Doctor after first donning one of these dresses, he seemed to stare at her for longer than usual before breaking into his customary grin. When he refused to let her hide out in his room rather than spend another evening embroidering, Rose could have sworn the tips of his ears turned pink.

 

From then on she caught smoldering stares and longing glances being cast her way. She had to tell him twice that for three weeks the Pope hadn’t been eating well. He’d been too busy staring at the buttons that ran down her bodice as if they might either do a trick or explode, and he wasn’t sure which.

 

Worst of all, every lecture on French, Italian, or Roman history that he chose to share with her ended or began with someone famous shagging some one else. Sometimes it both ended and began with it. 

 

She couldn’t be held responsible if she stood even closer to him, flirted more than usual, returned a few of the looks he gave her. She was only human, and she didn’t care if he wasn’t; she’d wanted him practically since she’d met him.

 

A few more days of snooping and knicker-drenching gazes, and the real Pope was discovered in what the Doctor loftily insisted on calling the “hypogeum” of the Coliseum, and what Rose and Jack called the “underground.”

 

So, the person who was, at the time, the most important man in Christianity was being held captive in the underground cells for prisoners and animals in one of the most impressive structures of the pagan world that had been indoctrinated into the Christian tradition. The captor was impersonating said holy man so he could equip Napoleon Bonaparte with a doomsday device that would ensure his victory over the world. Rose was beginning to worry that his language didn’t have a word for irony and was wondering how to introduce the concept to them.

 

Alrighty, evil alien securely detained in the TARDIS, proper Pope gratefully restored to his pointy hat, time to retrieve the killer crown from the newly self-coronated emperor. They couldn’t take the TARDIS, the Doctor said, because they were fixed in the time line now, and if they were off in their landing, terrible things could happen.

 

“In other words,” Jack teased. “You’re afraid of screwing up and landing us in the middle of the New and Improved Battle of Waterloo, now with lasers.” He grinned cheekily through his announcer impersonation.

 

“No,” The Doctor said with irritation. “It’s much more serious than that.” He sighed heavily and studiously avoided Rose’s gaze. “I’m afraid of calling down the Reapers.” 

 

Rose stilled. “I’ll go pack.” She said numbly and turned towards the TARDIS.

 

“Rose!” The Doctor almost cried her name. It seemed as loud as a shot in the quiet halls. He grabbed her elbow and pulled her so close to him that she could feel his breath on her face. “They won’t get you.” He promised. Rose just stared at him. “They won’t get me, either. Not this time. Not ever. I promise.”

 

There was a sincere warmth in his voice that opened a floodgate somewhere in Rose. She fisted her hands in the lapels of his leather jacket and cried, not caring if she ruined his jumper. “Don’t disappear on me again.” She whispered.

 

“Never again.” He returned determinedly. His arms tightening around her, trying to ward off the pain.

 

After several seconds, Jack coughed. And then smirked as they jumped apart. 

 

“I’ll go pack.” Rose repeated, this time with some life in her voice. Again she turned to the TARDIS, and again her progress was arrested by the Doctor. 

 

“I don’t want either of you going in there without me until we get rid of our prisoner. We need to leave as soon as possible. I’ll go secure a carriage.”

 

“I could do it.” Jack offered gallantly. “That way you could take Rose to the wardrobe room.”

 

“And use what as money?” The Doctor asked.

 

Jack leered.

 

“No. You are not acquiring transportation by shagging the stable master.”

 

“Well you could give me enough to cover it, then.”

 

“So you can go get a prostitute? And then shag the stable master?”

 

“You can get a prostitute in Vatican City?” Rose asked.

 

“You can get everything in Vatican City.” The Doctor said wearily.

 

“You can get a prostitute absolutely anywhere.” Jack said with a knowing grin.

 

"No." The Doctor said firmly. "I'll get the transport. You will tell our hosts that we thank them for their generosity and that we'll be back within the month,kl and you," he rounded on Rose and then softened. "You can take the dresses you've got here. They'll be...fantastic." Rose stared at him in disbelief. When she looked over at Jack, he shrugged, but had a knowing glint in his eye.

 

Rose knew when she had to give in. "Okay." The Doctor pressed a swift kiss to her forehead and strode away down the hall. Jack took a different hall, and Rose could've sworn she heard him say 

 

"Schoolmistress type. Figures."

 

With an unsteady breath, she headed back to the maidens’ dormitories. Her forehead still burned from where he’d kissed it. _This is ridiculous_ , she insisted to herself. After all, he’d done as much before. Still, somehow that simple caress had never seemed so charged before.

 

Maybe when they got out of this godforsaken city, the Doctor would go back to normal and only give her these heated looks in her dreams.

 

By the time she’d finished packing, the Doctor was leaning against her doorframe, waiting for her to be ready. She could feel him watching her. Rose Tyler knew very well that it wasn’t wise to goad the Doctor, to antagonize him. It was even less wise to try and tempt him, but a small experiment never seemed like it could hurt.

 

Rose slowed and exaggerated her motions as she continued to pack. She curved into a stretch a bit more that was strictly necessary; she bent over just far enough so that he could get a good view of her bum. She smirked when she heard him catch his breath. Turning to look him in the eyes, wondering if they would be darkened, Rose felt the heel of her plain, serviceable, black boot break beneath her. 

 

Before she could fall, the Doctor was at her side, arms around her.

 

“Are you okay?” he asked softly. His face was winches from her, and Rose was pleased to see that his nostrils were flared, and his pupils were dilated. She sent up a quick prayer that arousal showed itself the same way in Time Lords and in humans.

 

“Yeah.” She breathed. “My shoe broke.” The Doctor settled her in the nearest chair, his touch lingering longer than it should. His fingers trailed down her arm to the wrist.

 

He dug in his pocket until he could triumphantly flourish his sonic screwdriver. “Soon have it fixed.” He knelt in front of her, and pushed her skirt up over her knees so it wouldn’t get in his way. Rose shivered at this caress and hoped he didn’t notice.

 

His fingers skimmed down her legs now clad only in tights. Rose felt every nuance of his touch as though he were exploring her bare skin. Did he even know what he was doing? When the Doctor’s touch stopped at the top of her broken shoe, Rose gulped down a huge breath of cooling, stabilizing air and tried to force herself to calm down. She closed her eyes in an attempt to block out the image of the Doctor kneeling between her legs.

 

The buzzing stopped, and Rose opened her eyes to see the Doctor staring up at her with the same heavy-lidded expression he’d had when he caught her. She swallowed nervously.

 

“Good as new?” She asked breathily. She was scrambling for familiar ground, desperate for normalcy in this rush of the unexpected and unknown. By reminding the Doctor of his role, of the part he played, maybe she could remember why she wanted the safe path they’d been treading.

 

“Better.” He murmured. They remained a frozen tableau for several long, tense minutes while the Doctor searched her face. What he found, she couldn’t know as she didn’t even know what she should be showing him, much less what she was.

 

Feeling like she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, Rose let the Doctor indulge in his lazy perusal. Her hands clenched the wooden arms smoothed not by a craftsmen’s care but by the use from dozens of women maybe in her exact position: thrown for a loop by the man they fancy like mad, dizzy from his mere proximity. And at a loss for low to regain their composure and equanimity.

 

That was another thing about travelling. She tended to pick up their manner of speech at least for a while. 

 

Rose was aware that her mind was grasping at straws, trying to ignore its reality to protect itself from taking this too far.

 

With painstaking care, the Doctor lowered Rose’s skirt. He stood, tension in every muscle. Rose tried to scold herself for the thoughts racing through her mind. She tried to tell herself that she was the only one affected, but when the Doctor offered his hand to help her to her feet, Rose felt a tremble, knew that he gripped her tighter than normal. 

 

“Knock knock!” Jack’s voice rang out.

 

Neither of them would admit to jumping apart, but the smirk on Jack’s face as he leaned against the doorframe spoke volumes towards what he’d witnessed.

 

“All packed?” He asked calmly. Rose knew her face was flushed and unsuccessfully tried to will her heartbeat back to normal. She forced a smile.

 

“Yeah. Just got to lock the trunk.” She eyed the bulky wooden contraption. “One of you gets to carry it.” She declared with all the gravitas of a lady.


	2. Chapter 2

The carriage was a small, rickety affair, though it was the best available. Rose was unsurprised to find herself longing for the comfort of the TARDIS. Jack rode with his back to the driver, travelling through the world backwards. Rose tried to ignore the smile that played around his eyes. She tried even harder to ignore the man next to her.  
  
He sat across from Jack, but his lanky frame wasn't designed for such cramped quarters, and didn’t seem inclined to even try to fit. He rested his feet on the empty cushion across from Rose so that her legs were pressed up against his. She felt as though she was caged by a predator. She didn't hate it as much as she should. They couldn’t sit with her across from Jack when he was in the carriage because he kept trying to play footsies, and the Doctor soon got fed up.  
  
After a couple of hours, when they were watering the horses, Jack decided to ride up front with the driver, a shriveled, probably diseased old man. Rose had the idea that the Doctor had requested the least attractive driver they had available. At any rate, Rose suspected that not even Jack would try anything with this one. Still, Jack got bored and wandered up to the front. That’s what he claimed, anyway. He sent the Doctor a playful wink when he closed the door behind Rose which made her doubt his motives.  
  
In some way, being alone in the carriage with the Doctor was easier. For instance, he put his feet up where Jack had been sitting, so she no longer felt so trapped. With him gone, Jack’s knowing smile wasn’t goading Rose to action, and she wasn’t quite as trapped. But without Jack, there was no one to alleviate the tension, to break the silence.  
  
Rose sat next to the Doctor in the small vehicle with her eyes fixed firmly out the small window. When she had looked at the Doctor, his expression was closed, unreadable. She had never felt so distant from him.  
  
Longing to bridge the gap, terrified of what might happen if she did, and even more terrified of what might happen if she didn’t, Rose slipped her hand into his. Beside her, the Doctor’s whole posture relaxed. He squeezed her hand a little and even gave her a small smile. The rest of the day passed in much more comfort, emotionally, at least; the carriage was still “frightfully distressing” as she’d heard one of the nuns say of her travel arrangements. Though that woman had meant that she was to travel alone with two men, the self-righteous cow.  
  
Since a lady was in the carriage, contemporary social mores and the driver insisted they stop at an inn for the night. Even though a nightly stop would add days onto their journey, Rose couldn’t help but be relieved to get out of the carriage. The jolting and rattling made every joint and muscle sore. It was like being in an old, wooden rollercoaster for hours.  
  
Leaning on the Doctor more than usual, Rose made her way into the inn, stiffly. It wasn’t allowed for any woman to stay in a room alone. So, the Doctor, being her “guardian”, arranged for her to stay in a room with him. Jack was across the hall, since the innkeeper didn’t like the look of Jack, and made it very clear that he thought Rose ought to be protected from such a one. Rose had never heard the word “blackguard” actually be used before.  
  
Now, Rose sighed at the image of herself in the cloudy mirror. The white linen shift was just loose enough to be comfortable; it was also just tight enough to cling to her curves. She shook her head; focusing on it would hardly help matters.  
  
Squaring her shoulders slightly, Rose turned away from the mirror and faced the room that seemed dominated by the Doctor’s presence. He sat, motionless and silent, on the foot of the bed, staring at his hands.  
  
The moral code of this place and time dictated that the Doctor should sleep across the threshold of the room to block any intruder. The title "guardian" seemed to be literal here.  
  
A small part of her told Rose that maybe it would be the wisest way to do this, the safest way. Her heart, however, would have none of it. He shouldn’t be forced to sleep on the floor. After everything the Doctor had done for her, what he had come to mean to her, Rose couldn’t bring herself to want to ask it of him.  
  
And no, none of her longed to take this one night in bed with him and store it as the only moment of such intimacy that would be afforded her. That part of her knew that it would take two weeks for them to reach Paris and that she was bound to be able to steal a few more nights like this. There was a twinge from her conscience for anticipating more nights like this, storing them to fuel her sordid and ultimately futile fantasies.  
  
The Doctor continued to sit, tense, looking at his hands as though they held the secrets of the universe, or at least what few secrets still remained hidden from him. Cautiously, Rose sat next to him. He froze, a feat Rose hadn’t believed possible as he was already so still, but it seemed as though he stopped breathing, as though his hearts pounded to a halt. The Doctor was stretched as taut as a tightrope, as though only this tension was preventing a death.  
  
Forcing a smirk, Rose gave the Doctor a carefully casual once over. “You gonna kip in this get up, then?” she teased.  
  
A long, silent sigh drained the stress from the Doctor, and he faked affront, his eyes sparkling. “What’s wrong with it?” he demanded, as though insulted.  
  
“Just never seen anyone sleep in jeans before that wasn’t drunk off their arse,” Rose informed him with her tongue peeking out.  
  
The Doctor made a soft sound that suspiciously resembled a growl. “Maybe I am drunk on something," he murmured, his voice dark, his eyes darker.  
  
Rose blinked. When had he gotten so close? She could feel all the blood rushing to her face.  
  
“Rose,” the Doctor said, turning her name into a whimper, a plea, a prayer. Just like that, all the blood was fleeing her face to clause a flood somewhere else.  
  
“Yes, Doctor.” It wasn’t a question; it was an assurance, and invitation. Hell, who was she kidding? It was a demand.  
  
A demand which went unanswered as the Doctor quickly stepped back behind the unspoken line which they had drawn without thinking. It was this line which made Rose’s number one Christmas wish be for the universe’s largest bottle of White-Out. As quickly as his nearness had appeared, it vanished, and Rose felt as though her hopes went with it.  
  
“It’s getting late. You need to rest,” he told her. His manner was almost short. Rose blinked up at him as he stood and shed his jacket. It wasn’t the first time that Rose had seen the Doctor in just his jumper, but it was about as close as he seemed to come to being naked, and the glimpse of his lean muscles through just a thin, well-fitted layer of wool was enough to inspire distraction. Rose had been known to wonder if he wore the jacket so that people wouldn’t ogle his frame, or if people were more prone to stare because it was such a scarce sight. Given the reaction he got even from people who didn’t know how rare was the treat they were witnessing, Rose knew it was likely the former.  
  
The Doctor looked down at her and his eyes softened like warm wax. There was a sweetness to his small smile that never failed to warm Rose’s heart and invoked an identical smile from her.  
  
“C’mon,” he urged gently. Rose became aware that she hadn’t yet moved. The Doctor pulled down the covers and patted the pillows invitingly. “Bed for you.” The affectionate caretaker manner that he had adopted was something that Rose was unfamiliar with. Not only was it an aspect of the Doctor that she had never suspected, but even her mother almost never displayed it.  
  
Obediently, Rose crawled up the bed and curled into a pillow. The Doctor lay down beside her, several inches of cold, empty space between them, and drew up the blankets over them both. Finally, he blew out the candle.  
  
Turning to face him, Rose reveled in the softness of the mattress after the uncomfortable carriage and weeks of the thin pad they called a mattress in the maiden’s quarters of the Vatican.  
  
"This feels like heaven,” she murmured to the Doctor. In the pale moonlight, she could see his eyes lighten. “I mean, I know this mattress isn’t as good as the one at home.” The spark in his eyes dimmed. Rose continued, hoping that he would understand what she meant in a moment. “It’s not even as good as the mattress at Mum’s,” the spark flared back to life, “but after that ride, anything is good.”  
  
With his eyes practically glowing (and who knew, maybe his could), the Doctor pulled Rose close. “The TARDIS is your home?” he asked, huskily.  
  
Rose nodded against his chest. She hadn’t the courage to say, “For as long as it is yours, it’s mine,” but even admitting as little as she did was enough for the Doctor to cradle her in his arms as if he knew she belonged there. The steady, syncopated beats of his hearts echoed louder in her ears than normal. Rose reminded herself that it was probably because he wasn’t wearing his jacket that it sounded like they were pounding.  
  
Without her permission, Rose’s arm snaked up to wrap around his torso, anchoring him to her. A light pressure on the crown of her head warmed her through in a way that a simple touch of his lips to her head shouldn’t have caused. Rose snuggled in closer, fairly certain he wouldn’t reject her just yet. In doing so, she nuzzled the tiny peek of his chest that was revealed by his jumper. She thought she felt his breath catch, but put it down to the fantasies of her drowsy mind.  
  
As safe and as comfortable as it was possible for her to be, Rose slipped into sleep.  
  
*  
  
The next two weeks seemed to pass as slowly as if every football match Mickey had made her watch had been strung together, end on end. Rose was also pretty sure that she had permanent kidney damage from this one, persistent spring, that had it in for her. Rose wasn’t surprised when the Doctor’s slightly psychic paper got them the most comfortable lodging possible at the Tuileries Palace, Napoleon’s home when he wasn’t off at battle.  
  
They arrived as dusk was overcome by night. The porter quickly directed them to a trio of rooms at the end of a quiet corridor. As dinner had already been finished, they were offered a light supper to be brought to their rooms. The emperor had already retired, so they would be presented in the morning. And, the porter offered with only the slightest condescension, appropriate attire would be made available. Rose beamed at the sprightly little man. The Doctor glowered.  
  
And, just like that, the three were separated.  
  
Rose hadn’t finished drinking in the opulence when a maid curtseyed her way in, bearing a laden tray. Just as quickly, the girl was gone.  
  
Rose hadn’t felt solitude so keenly in years. It wasn’t uncommon for her to become separated from the Doctor during their travels, but she’d allowed herself to become too accustomed to his presence every night. She felt isolated from him, and, as ever, she didn’t like the feeling. Nevertheless, it was a sort of relief to not be drowning in tension.  
  
She stared at a wall, lousy with gilding that divided his room from hers. With a mental shake, Rose picked up an apple from the tray and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully while unbuttoning her dress.  
  
Almost as soon as she’d pulled her nightgown over her head and let it fall so that its hem swept her ankles, a golden panel on the wall she’d been examining swung inwards. The Doctor strode in, beaming like one of the Lost Boys stumbling upon the sleeping quarters of a very drunk Captain Hook.  
  
“Secret passage,” he declared unnecessarily. Rose flushed to her roots. If he’d been ten seconds earlier…She banished that line of thought.  
  
“How’d you find it?” she asked, her natural curiosity saving her from blurting out how very close he’d come to being flashed.  
  
“Quite by accident,” he said, but refused to elaborate further.  
  
“Well, that’s brilliant, Doctor, but I was just about to head to bed,” Rose said, suddenly frustrated with him. How could he do this to her and be so oblivious? She needed to think, and he wouldn’t give her any space. She was ready to explode.  
  
The Doctor had the grace to look flustered by her statement. “Ah,” he stated eloquently.  
  
“Yeah, so if you don’t mind,” Rose continued leadingly when he just stood there, staring at her.  
  
“Thing is,” he began awkwardly, “the moon shines full in my face in my room.”  
  
Rose had the corner suite, with large windows facing to the North. The Doctor, whose room was just South of hers, only had windows on the East. It would be perfect for watching the sun rise, but apparently it wasn’t conducive to sleep.  
  
It was Rose’s turn to be flustered She tried and failed to keep her eyes away from her own bed. At last she gave in. Glancing guiltily up at him, Rose forced the words out. “You could sleep in here,” she mumbled.  
  
The Doctor looked both dumbstruck and hopeful. “You wouldn’t mind?” he asked softly. Rose shook her head, once again not trusting her voice not to betray her. The Doctor’s face split into a grin. He shed his jacket and, like every night on this trip so far, turned down the covers.  
  
Rose thought that the past two weeks had been tense, but lying next to the Doctor, Rose realized that she’d been the most stressed at the thought of a night without him. And, even if it was the last time, Rose couldn’t help but feel contentment as she fell asleep, secure in his presence.


	3. Chapter 3

Rose wasn’t jarred awake the next morning at the crack of dawn as she had been since the TARDIS landed. Instead, she slipped softly out of dreams and into a reality that seemed as fantastical as many of her dreams. She was lying on her side with the Doctor spooned against her from behind. His breath stirred her hair. His arm was wrapped around her waist. His hand stroked her stomach through the thin cotton of her nightgown. Rose stretched a little, trying not to disturb him, but hoping to distance herself a little.

 

“Morning,” he rumbled. Rose shivered. So, that hand wasn’t moving involuntarily in his sleep.

 

“Morning,” she murmured. This was the sort of exchange that any couple would have. If they were normal, she would next be refusing to kiss him until she’d brushed her teeth. Or one of them would get up to put on some tea.

 

Instead, the Doctor gave her a small, playful push. “Maid’ll be here soon with dresses for meeting Napoleon in.” Rose flushed and scrambled out of the bed. The Doctor threw her a smirk that seemed out of place. It was so filthy, it made her shiver. “You don’t want to start a scandal?” he asked, as though asking if she preferred chocolate or vanilla ice cream. Rose decided he was teasing her and rolled her eyes

 

“Get up, Doctor.” She walked over to the secret panel that still stood open. Through the hole, Rose got a great look at the Doctor’s own, magnificently furnished room. Sure enough, the only window he had faced east to catch the rising sun and moon. He’d failed to mention the large, heavily brocaded window drapes that blocked all light. His room was darker than hers. 

 

With a secret smile, Rose turned back to the lanky figure still lounging on the bed. “C’mon. Back to your own room,” she ordered. With a pout that made her think very wicked thoughts, indeed, the Doctor got up and grabbed his jacket.

 

When he met her at the door, Rose could see behind the playful pout. There lurked a real sadness. She reached out for his hand and gave it a squeeze.

 

“See you in bit. Just got to get cleaned up and dressed.”

 

The panel had just clicked shut when the door to Rose’s chamber was opened by the same curtseying maid from the night before. Rose whirled around, fairly certain her face was scarlet.

 

“I, uh, was just admiring the room,” she said. The maid said nothing. “How long before breakfast?”

 

“Nearly two hours, miss.”

 

“Good. Plenty of time for a bath first, then.”

 

“But, miss, we need to start preparing you right away.”

 

“Exactly. And those preparations will start with a good scrub.” When the maid continued to fret, Rose put her most officious tone into play. “I’ve been on the road for two weeks. I will not be introduced to this emperor or any other when I’m covered in a layer of dust. I assure you that I will be ready on time.”

 

The maid dithered for a moment longer before bolting, Rose assumed, to comply with her request. Rose heaved a sigh, rolled her eyes, and plopped onto her bed.

 

  
You’re getting a bath?” Jack asked from somewhere near her feet.

 

“Damn straight.” Rose muttered, knowing that scolding him for coming into her room without so much as knocking would have about as much effect as a asking the Doctor for a smooth landing. She made a mental note to tell the Doctor about it later.

 

“Well, I’m not," he declared proudly.

 

Rose lifted her head and stared at him pointedly. “If you want to stink, go right ahead.”

 

“Napoleon was known to prefer a “natural” scent to a clean one,” Jack explained. 

 

Rose wrinkled her nose. She’d learned from the Doctor that she wasn’t to judge based on her own standards, so she didn’t say the first thing that came to her mind.“That’s…great. I’m still having a bath.”

 

Jack nodded sagely. “Probably for the best. Most people don’t like the fug of body odor.” He cast a sly glance in her direction. “Particularly species with superior olfactory senses.”

 

Rose blanched, then flushed. Two planets ago, the Doctor had found the dungeon she was locked in solely because of his “superior olfactory senses.” He’d gone on to say that he could follow her scent anywhere. Rose still wasn’t sure if she was insulted or not about that, but the look in his eyes as he’d said it had her leaning towards not.

 

She didn’t know how Jack knew about that, but it was best to nip it in the bud. “It’s not like that, Jack. You know that.”

 

“Could be,” he told her with a jaunty wink. With Rose doing her very best impersonation of a cod fish, Jack whistled and strolled out.

 

As he left, Jack threw a flirtatious grin at someone down the hall towards the Doctor’s room. Almost immediately two male servants carried a large, gilded tub into the room. The girl Rose supposed was meant to be her maid for the duration of their stay trailed behind them, barking out orders as sharply as any gentlewoman. Water was already half-filling the tub, the steam perfuming the room with the heady scent of antique roses. It took some force before the servants agreed to let Rose bathe herself. She’d had to threaten to call for her guardian before they’d retreated. How the Doctor’s reputation spread so quickly, she’d never known, but she took full advantage of it. At least she hadn’t had to channel her mother. Acting like Jackie Tyler always put Rose out of sorts.

 

After quickly bathing in the water that was so lousy with perfume that it made her a bit light-headed, Rose wrapped a towel around herself and went to summon the maid, Marie, to help her get into the bloody great dress she was supposed to wear for breakfast. Upon opening the door, Rose found not the curtseying yet bossy girl, but the Doctor, half-turned away.

 

“Ready?” he asked, turning towards her. His eyes met hers, widened, glanced down, down a bit further, lingered, and then jumped back up to hers. When he met her gaze again, the Doctor seemed to realize that he had been caught staring. He flinched, guilt leaking from every pore. “A h,” he stated eloquently, the tips of his ears going pink. He refused to look away from her eyes, as if they were safe harbor.

 

For her part, Rose also stared at him. He’d changed into the green jumper she though made him look dead sexy. His eyes were darker than usual, inviting her to take a swim in the uncharted depths. There was a flush in his skin that caused a matching tint to bloom in hers. And though she wasn’t sure, she thought he might be breathing faster than usual.

 

“Not ready then,” he said after a few minutes of strained silence. The quick click of rushing footsteps down the hall galvanized him into action. “Right, well, shift yourself,” he said uncertainly and immediately retreated to his own room. 

 

Rose continued to stand at the door, at a complete loss for what just happened. After a few moments, Marie appeared and bustled herself and Rose back into the room, shutting the door behind her.

 

“Sorry, miss, were you waiting for me? I was just getting a comb for your hair.” She displayed the most exquisite hair accessory Rose had ever seen. It had been made by a master silver-smith, that much was clear. Fine filigree ran down each tooth of the comb, tapering to a stop an inch before reaching the end, the handle composed of three perfectly blooming roses, also in silver. Dewdrops glistened on the petals in the form of tiny diamonds, and the larger, center rose had a large pink diamond nestled in its heart. 

 

Rose stared at it in awe for a moment before she felt Marie seize her towel. It took every ounce of her will to not yelp and snatch it back, but she knew this was the custom for the wealthy at the time. Forcing a scowl from her face, Rose allowed Marie to help with what felt like 37 thousand undergarments, the _piece de resistance_ of which was the corset. Finally, Rose, in all her petticoated glory was bundled into a dress, which was the color of cedar needles in the sun, with spring green trim and silver leaves dancing across the cloth.

 

Her hair was twisted in such a fashion that the single comb could hold it up, its tines peeking out to grace the nape of her neck. Two identical locks fell to frame her face.

 

And yes, Marie had overestimated how long it would take Rose to do her hair and bathe, but Rose had underestimated how long it would take to dress. In order to be on time, and Rose could already hear the Doctor pacing restlessly outside her door, she had no choice but to throw on the lightest coat of mascara she’d worn since she was eleven, a dab of lippy, and then dash.

 

After thanking Marie, Rose took a deep breath and let herself into the hall. The Doctor paused mid-stride and turned warily towards her. Again, his eyes widened when he spotted her, and again her breath caught at what she thought she saw there. She might even have heard him mumble, “beautiful.”

 

Then, his manic grin was back and he was offering his arm as he had when they met Dickens. Just like that time, he tightened his arm so firmly around hers that she could move in as close as she wanted to and be able to reasonably blame his grip. She took full advantage of this and pressed into his side.

 

“Jack’ll meet us there,” the Doctor told her. “He’s messing with his hair for the sixth time this hour.”

 

Rose chuckled, knowing the Doctor wasn’t likely to be exaggerating. “You’re just jealous that you haven’t got enough hair to mess with,” she teased.

 

The Doctor sent her a fake glare, and Rose giggled. As the best friends that they were, the Doctor and Rose descended to breakfast.

 

*

 

Rose’s first introduction to Napoleon was one that no one was likely to believe. She knew by now that nothing was ever quite like it said in the guide book, but she expected there to be at least some likeness. 

 

Napoleon wasn’t short for one thing. Rose hadn’t been able to see that during the coronation, they were so far away. The Doctor had prepared her for his height by leaning so close she could feel his breath on her ear. She’d barely been able to pay attention to what he said. How could he expect her brain to work when it was overloaded by sensory input?

 

Still, Rose was able to betray no surprise when she saw the Frenchman. At least, she was able to do until she realized just how very misleading the advertising had been. 

 

When she and the Doctor entered, the footman’s introduction of them was drowned out by a whinging voice.“Please, my lord, I have a family and no skills in any trade.”

 

“Others have managed before you,” Napoleon said in a bored tone.

 

“But, my lord, please tell me. Why am I being discharged from your army? The battle was won.”

 

At this, Napoleon smirked, and Rose began to suspect he had something up his sleeve. There was no way Napoleon was a practical jokester. Was there?

 

“I know the battle was won. You led your forces admirably. Which is why, when you leave the army, you will remain in my service as an advisor. And in order to keep your leadership skills sharp, you will be residing here.” The emperor produced several documents, the top displaying a drawing of a suitably lavish country home. “There is a veritable army of staff to be at your disposal.”

 

The man, who had been so tense that he’d been vibrating with panic, (and Rose had wondered if that whine was really his voice or if the sound came from him like a string,) sagged with a relief Rose had only felt when she’d met the Doctor’s eyes, bright and alive in his face, over the body of her father. This man might have been relieved now, but Rose could still see the sheen of the cold sweat that he’d had only a moment before.

 

“Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.”

 

The Doctor’s elbow digging into her side reminded Rose not to stare. Napoleon was enjoying his prank immensely. Rose had the feeling that if whoopee cushions had existed in the nineteenth century no chair would have been safe. She thought she caught the footman rolling his eyes, and forced the resulting grin into a polite smile. Gripping the Doctor’s hand tightly, Rose turned to Napoleon.

 

Rose’s voice dripped with syrup when she addressed the not-so-little emperor. “I can’t express what pleasure I feel at meeting you.” 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Jack had saved her that morning, Rose knew. She had spent most of the morning flummoxed. The Doctor had been equal parts distracted and broodily silent. Several times, Rose was fairly certain that she’d caught the Doctor staring at her neck, only to jump guiltily when she cast him a curious glance.

 

But, from the start, Jack had been his usual, charming self. Napoleon had taken to him in a way that made Rose feel sorry for Josephine.

 

As the meal drew to a close, Napoleon begged off to attend to affairs of state. He cast a particularly apologetic look at Jack. As soon as he was gone, Rose looked up at the Doctor.

 

“What d’we do now?” she asked, trying to pretend that she didn’t notice how low his gaze was, but she knew that she flushed. Judging from the interest in the Doctor’s eyes, he rather liked the effect. Jack glanced over and grinned, turning to face them both fully, crossing his arms and beaming, waiting to see what would happen next as though they were his favorite soap opera. Squirming under the Doctor’s scrutiny, Rose cleared her throat. “Doctor?”

 

He jumped and his eyes slammed up to hers. She raised an eyebrow. If he were any other bloke, Rose would ask if he saw anything he liked, but he was the Doctor. He didn’t do domestic. At least he said he didn’t do domestic. Then he’d faked a reason to sleep in her room last night. She couldn’t chalk that one up to an over-active imagination. Rose didn’t know what was going on with the Doctor, but something was changing and she felt herself being unbalanced. Her heart was already so far lost to the man in front of her, and Rose was beginning to fear for its safety.

 

So, Rose did the safe thing. She withdrew. She crossed her arms and ignored the small frown that marred the Doctor’s forehead at her sudden, defensive stance. She tried to divert attention from herself and remind them all of where they were and why. “Doctor, how are we gonna get hold of that crown? And how’re we gonna keep him from finding out that we stole it? We’ve got a two week trip back to Rome, and I don’t feel like being chased the whole way in this get up.”

 

Out of the corner of her eye, Rose noticed that Jack cast her a look of disapproval.

 

The Doctor shook his head sharply. He mouthed the words “Not here.” Rose almost resented him for forcing her to focus on his mouth. “How about a nice walk?” he Doctor asked aloud. “The gardens are fantastic.”

 

Rose forced a smile and bright tone. “Sounds lovely.”

 

The Doctor led the way through the palace, and Jack fell into step beside Rose. 

 

“I’ve taught you nothing,” he murmured. Rose glared at him, and he raised his hands in surrender. “Just saying.”

 

“Don’t,” she muttered firmly. “I don’t know what’s up with him-“

 

“Of course you don’t.”

 

She continued as if he had said nothing. “But I just…I just wish everything would go back to normal.” 

 

“Do you really?”

 

“Yeah,” Rose insisted, ignoring the twinge in her heart at the thought of losing the potential futures that were peeking at her. She told herself it was stupid to hope for any of them. 

 

Despite what she told Jack, and despite what had become an internal mantra, Rose hoped the Doctor hadn’t heard their whispered conference. She couldn’t look forward to spending the night alone.

 

This train of thought seemed to weigh down on her. She couldn’t tell if she and the Doctor were closer than ever or falling apart. She hurried forward a few steps and grasped the Doctor’s hand. Linking their fingers together, the Doctor squeezed her hand tightly, almost desperately, pulling her closer to him, but the smile he threw down at her was gentle and seemed genuinely happy. It was the smile that always stopped her heart and tore her between wanting to snog him senseless and wanting to squeeze him tight.

 

She grinned back up at him, the grin that he seemed to inspire with her tongue perched in the corner of her mouth, and leaned into him. The silence was companionable as they made their way to the gardens, as long as they ignored the charge that sparked beneath the surface.

 

The gardens were exquisite as advertised. They were easily the match of the garden they’d been chased through by the giant carnivorous, insect swarm that was infesting Clakarum IV.

 

The Doctor steered them along a shady, gravel-paved lane to a remote gazebo. While the Doctor and Jack did a quick perimeter check, Rose sank gratefully onto one of the provided benches. Between the corset required by this dress and the shoes she was expected to wear, Rose was surprised she could walk at all; running, she knew, was absolutely out of question. Whenever the TARDIS provided Rose with period clothes, they always managed to be comfortable. Even the grey and brown shifts provided by the monastery required much simpler underwear than what Rose was currently enduring, since they were designed to keep girls from indulging their vanity.

 

Jack came back from securing the area with a spring in his step. Rose tried not to begrudge him his comfort.

 

“However, we get that crown it’d better not involve running,” she told him with a wry smile. “How do they breathe in these things?”

 

Jack smirked. “It’s just training so they can hold their breath for a long time.” Rose rolled her eyes.

 

The Doctor came up from behind her, then, putting his hand casually on her shoulder. She tried to suppress a shiver. “We do it tonight.” He said. 

 

Rose realized that he was shifting uneasily. She laid her hand over his where it still rested on her bare skin. “Doctor?” she asked.

 

“I don’t like it. Crown goes missing and no one notices? Won’t happen. And the TARDIS is back in Rome.”

 

“Why does it have to go missing?” Rose asked. “Why not just replace it?”

 

“It still doesn’t look like it does in the paintings. Jack chimed in “Where’s _that_ crown?” 

 

The Doctor shrugged. “Probably was never made.”

 

“Then why can’t we get it made?” Rose asked, craning her neck to look up at him. He looked down at her and paused. She thought the hand on her shoulder might have tightened. His eyes might have darkened, but then he blinked, and it was gone. Rose looked down to hide her disappointment and realized that from the Doctor’s angle, if her head wasn’t bowed, be could look right down her bodice. Blushing, she glanced back up at him. He was beaming.

 

“Rose Tyler,” he said in the proud tone off voice that always sent a tingle down her spine. “What have I got in my pocket?”

 ***

Rule number 736 for travelling with the Doctor, Rose decided, was never be surprised by the contents of a Time Lord’s pockets. They had retired to Rose’s room so the Doctor could properly dig through wormholes he called pockets. While searching for God knows what (but he’d muttered about storing it sometime during his fifth life), the Doctor pulled out and passed to 

Rose a bylateral stabilizer, a hydraulic transistor for a Kyloc-III (whatever that was) a packet of crisps, dried bits of banana, and what looked to be an unopened condom, which had caused both Rose and the Doctor to blush, and Jack to mutter that he’d underestimated the Doctor. 

 

“I confiscated it from you!” the Doctor snapped at him. “They’re illegal in that whole star system, and I didn’t need to have to break you out of jail…again.”

 

“Yeah, but that was 37 trips ago,” Jack whined. Rose raised her eyebrow and the Doctor flushed. His ears were so red that Rose wondered if they would be as warm as a human’s. She forced the desire to suck and nibble on one to find out to a dusty corner of her mind.

 

Finally, after one of Rose’s scarves, 3 buttons, and a bottle of dog shampoo, the Doctor pulled out a rather large blue velvet box that looked like it came from a high end jewelry store.

 

“Got it!” he crowed, and then began to cram the items back into his pocket. Even, Rose noted, the condom.

 

“Okay. We have a box,” she said blandly.

 

“Napoleon’s crown was commissioned specifically for the occasion. Gold and pearls made to look like laurels. He brought back the Roman look.”

 

“He was retro?” Rose asked.

 

Jack snickered. “God, I hope so. The Romans were freaks.”

 

“Takes one to know one,” the Doctor muttered at the same time as Rose held up a hand in defense.

 

“Please, don’t cite your sources, Jack.” She begged.

 

“Anyway,” the Doctor continued, and Rose was glad to have anything to get _that_ mental image from her mind. “A while back I helped Marius during one of his seven times as consul. I only kept this because it’s always a good idea to have gold on hand.” He flipped the lid open, looking a little sheepish as he did so.

 

Jack whistled. Rose gaped before smacking the Doctor’s arm.

 

“But I had to buy the chips!” she groused. “Cheapskate.”

 

Jack looked appalled. “Seriously, Doctor, what kind of date are you?”

 

The Doctor rubbed his arm with pout.

 

Jack meanwhile was inching closer to the crown that had been revealed.

 

“Oi!” the Doctor barked. Jack looked crestfallen. He cast a sad look at the golden laurel wreath, a perfect replica of the crown Rose recognized from the paintings. Well, actually, it wasn’t a replica since what the Doctor had came first. Maybe it was a preplica. Was that a word?

 

“But if Napoleon was given this alien death crown, why would he want this one instead?”

 

Jack perked up. “Leave that to me,” he told them with a smirk. The Doctor rolled his eyes. Jack rolled them right back. “I’m a con-man. Persuading people is what I do.” Rose crossed her arms and leveled a stare at him. “I don’t have to resort to sex, Rose.” Jack assumed an affronted air.

 

“Of course you don’t resort to it,” the Doctor said flatly. “It’s the first thing you try.”

 

Jack grinned. “You know you love me.”

 

“Oh, let him,” Rose said, laying a hand on the Doctor’s arm. It didn’t escape her notice how he relaxed under her touch. Had he thought she was really mad about the chips? It was the best date of her life, even if he would never think of it like that. She realized the Doctor was staring at her, and that Jack was looking hopeful.

 

“Let him?” the Doctor asked dubiously.

 

“He’ll get it done quicker and easier than we will,” she told him, sliding her hand down to take his. “Besides, you didn’t let him sleep with the stable master.” Squeezing his hand, Rose smiled up at him, letting him know she wasn’t angry with him. He smiled back.

 

“If we get chased back to the TARDIS by the entire French army, it’s not my fault,” he told her.

 

Jack took this as his cue and snatched up the velvet box unhindered. “Don’t wait up for me,” he called as he left.

 

The Doctor hadn’t looked away from Rose since she’d put her hand on his arm. She felt compelled to return his gaze as he searched her face. Was he getting closer? She could’ve sworn she was being pulled in by his eyes.

 

“Rose,” he whispered.

 

The door slammed open and Marie bustled in, bogged down by a new dress, even more elaborate than the one Rose was wearing. Fortunately, this meant the little maid didn’t see the Doctor jump back, or Rose’s disappointment.

 

“Miss, it’s time to get you dressed for dinner.”

 

“Fantastic,” the Doctor muttered darkly.


	5. Chapter 5

Dinner that night was something Rose would never forget. Jack came in whistling jauntily, which was enough to make the Doctor cast Rose a look that was part “prepare to run” and part “told-you-so”. Rose laid her hand over his where it rested on the table and whispered, “I don’t hear anyone shouting for the guards.”

 

A porter announced the arrival of the emperor and his bride. Rose, the Doctor, and Jack stood until Napoleon and Josephine were seated. Jack shared intimate, smug looks with the emperor, and Josephine gained a satisfied, flushed look whenever she looked at her husband or the former Time Agent.

 

Rose and the Doctor exchanged an uncomfortable look, and Rose withdrew her hand from where it still lay on the Doctor’s.

 

Josephine was a gracious hostess and kept the conversation flowing lightly. Even so, Rose begged off as soon as she could, claiming she was not fully recovered from travelling. Seeing the Doctor’s stricken look as she moved to leave, Rose gave him an encouraging smile, but she still headed back to her room.

 

Getting out of the corset was one of the most liberating experiences Rose had ever had. Never before had she properly appreciated the ability to take a deep breath. Dressed, with the help of Marie (who had since excused herself for the night), in her simple cotton shift, Rose lay on the bed and stretched her arms above her head so that her lungs could expand in all directions. Greedily, she gulped down huge breaths. She watched her chest rise and fall, smiling softly at the feel of her ribs stretching.

 

The panel in the wall snicked open. Rose couldn’t be bothered to shift out of her current position, which she knew must look like it was inspired by a porn-star. In fact, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. He’d been playing with her since they’d landed the TARDIS, and it was about time she joined the game.

 

“Moon still bothering you?” Rose asked, knowing full well that it hadn’t risen yet.

 

“Yeah,” the Doctor said in a choked voice as his eyes trailed over her form. Rose was aware that in her current posture, her nipples pointed towards the ceiling and, under his scrutiny, they began to pebble, which obviously strengthened his interest. “I…uh…” He seemed to try and fail to rally himself.

 

Rose took pity on him, and (after one last deep breath which the Doctor watched avidly) she sat up, propped on her elbows. “What is it, Doctor?” she asked him.

 

He snapped his mouth shut from where it hung slightly open. Pulling his shoulders back, the Doctor forced a professional pose.

 

“Spoke to Jack,” he said almost tersely. “He said we can leave tomorrow. I think it’s a good idea; the TARDIS is probably getting lonely.”

 

A pang shot through Rose. Part of it was guilt for enjoying her time with the Doctor, his lanky frame wrapped around her each night while the TARDIS sat alone with no company but an intergalactic felon. But, if Rose were honest, she would admit that even more she hurt to know that, when they returned to the TARDIS, the Doctor would have no reason to seek her out at night. Whether it was boredom that drove him to her bed at night, or loneliness, he would not need her anymore. With the TARDIS’ voice in his head, he wouldn’t be alone at night, and tinkering would easily keep him busy.

 

She forced a smile, knowing she was being selfish. She had no hold on him and no right to try to invent one.

 

“Then let’s leave in the morning. It’ll be good to be home.” She held out a hand to him. “And I we’re going to be leaving early, then I’m going to need my beauty sleep, and you standing there won’t help me sleep.”

 

The Doctor grinned and shucked off his jacket before taking her hand and allowing himself to be pulled down next to her. They lay still for a moment, fingers entwined, faces inches from each other, breath warming each other’s face.

 

Then, the Doctor rolled away and began to unlace his boots. Rose sighed. “I’m surprised Jack isn’t trying to postpone us leaving since he’s found a new toy.” She said it as much to distract herself as anything. There was a thump as the Doctor got his shoes off and let them drop to the floor. He blew out the candle by his side of the bed, and lay back down next to her.

 

Finally, he spoke. “Not sure what he was talking about, but he said he was doing me a favor.” 

 

He rolled so that he propped himself up above her, their chests brushing against each other. It was all Rose could do to not moan as the cloth of his jumper rasped against her breasts through the thin cotton of her nightgown. When he rolled back off of her, the room was dark.

 

Though she could barely make out his shape, Rose turned to look at him, searching for some meaning in his recent actions. His hand snaked out and wrapped around her waist, pulling her to him.

 

He pressed a kiss to her forehead which, despite its softness, burned when he pulled back to whisper, “Sleep well, Rose.”

 

Rose buried her head in his chest, trying to ignore the ache in her own. It was all about to end.

 

*

 

When Rose woke the next morning, it was to the sound of a rapid knocking.

 

“Miss Rose!” Marie’s voice rang out. “It’s time for you to be getting up!”

 

A panicked glance to her side revealed that the Doctor was already gone. Her gaze flew to the secret door which was closed. Instead of relief, Rose felt only longing and abandonment.

 

“I’m up!” she called, barely resisting an urge to grouse.

 

Marie swept in, bearing another elegant dress. Rose bit back a groan.

 

“I thought we were leaving this morning?” she asked hopefully.

 

“But of course, miss,” Marie said smoothly. “But their majesties have begged for your party to stay for a breakfast in your honor. Then we’ll get you back in your travelling clothes and you’ll be on your way.”

 

“I see,” Rose murmured. “Well, if I’m to spend the next two weeks in a dusty carriage, I’ll need a bath.”

 

She expected another argument like the morning before, but was surprised by the sly grin on Marie’s face.

 

“I though you might say that,” the maid commented, opening the door behind her, allowing in the servants who were waiting in the hall bearing a steaming tub. Once the tub had been put down and the men were gone, Marie briskly stripped Rose down and ushered her into the bath.

 

Rose was ready for breakfast much quicker than the day before. Likely this was so that the Doctor, Jack and she could get on the road as early as possible. They had a long trip home, after all.

 

When she arrived at breakfast, Jack was already there, waiting.

 

“Where’s the Doctor?” Rose asked.

 

“You don’t know?” Jack seemed genuinely surprised.

 

“I haven’t seen him since last night,” she said honestly.

 

“Oh,” Jack said with disappointment. “Well, he’s down helping to get our carriage ready. He wants to get back as quickly as possible.”

 

Rose nodded, sadly recognizing his eagerness to get back to the TARDIS.

 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, and Rose was aware of Jack’s scrutiny. When Napoleon arrived, his wife on his arm, he sported a new crown, one of golden laurels. Rose looked over at Jack who threw her a grin when Napoleon whispered something in Josephine’s ear. She didn’t want to know how he had managed this, she really didn’t. All reports said that Napoleon and Josephine were practically a storybook couple. Rose was going to try to keep that image firmly in mind, despite how Jack’s salacious grin would try to chase it away.

 

It was a pleasant meal, or would have been if Rose hadn’t been increasingly aware of the Doctor’s absence. After nearly half an hour, the Doctor finally emerged.

 

“Is the carriage ready?” Josephine asked politely.

 

“Nearly. Your majesties have been kind enough to equip us with provisions. As soon as they’ve been loaded, and once Lady Rose has had time to ready herself for travel, we can be on our way.” As he said this, the Doctor sat himself at the table, but not in his customary spot. Instead of sitting firmly at Rose’s side, he grabbed the seat next to Jack, on the other side of the table from her. He didn’t so much as glance her way.

 

After the Doctor had wolfed down a light breakfast, he went back to see to the packing. Confused and hurt, Rose headed off to her room. She almost saw the grey shift as a solace. If she could hide her skin, maybe she could hide everything else. Anyone in this dress should be somber, so it shouldn’t seem out of place for her to be quiet. She knew that if she didn’t bite her tongue, she was likely to start screaming, begging for answers, and she also knew no answers could be forthcoming. No explanation could soothe her, anyway. He had turned himself off towards her.

 

Back in the bland, skintight dress, Rose cast a quick glance at the mirror. The person who looked back was world weary and pained.

 

She forced a small smile into place, bid a fond farewell to Marie, and stepped out into the hall and back to normal.

 

*

 

Everything was different on the ride back to Rome. The Doctor spent all of the first week sitting up front with the driver. When they stopped for the night, Rose was still required by custom to sleep in the same room as her guardian, the Doctor. However, he now spent the night in whatever chair was afforded to him. When he woke her in the morning, it wasn’t with the low rumble in her ear that she had grown used to over the past couple weeks, nor was it the excited call to adventure that he usually used in the TARDIS. Instead, it was a curt, almost cold voice that roused her.

 

Jack must have recognized Rose’s distress, which was only natural as she made little effort to hide it. He didn’t ask her about it even though they were alone, but he did do his best to cheer her up. She tried to let it work, and then she tried to seem like she was cheered, but he knew better. He began to long for the trip to be over. 

 

At one point, he even proved that he could get there just as quickly without the carriage by running alongside it. Eventually even his 51st century body tired and he clambered back into the coach, panting.

 

Rose smirked at him. “Stop harassing the driver.” Jack saw her smile and beamed.

 

“But it’s so much fun,” he said petulantly.

 

“I thought you just liked sexual harassment,” she chided.

 

“All types of harassment have their uses," he told her with a wink. "I’m not nearly as discriminating as you think.” 

 

Rose laughed and shook her head. “Way too much information, there, Jack.” She sat back and looked at the world slowly passing by the window. It was nearly an hour before the glow of contentment faded.

 

When there was only four days left in their journey, Nature threw a tantrum as violent as the one Rose wanted to have. The horses turned out to be very well trained as they ignored the rain, lightning, wind, and thunder and persisted on their journey. The driver had warm, waterproof clothes made of waxed canvas. With a wide brimmed hat he was as dry as anyone in the carriage. And in the carriage was one extra person. The Doctor had been chased reluctantly inside by the storm. Well, the storm and Rose’s pleading. She didn’t care that he was endowed with superior physiology, and she told him so. He’d be more comfortable inside, and that, as far as Rose was concerned, was that.

 

It turned out that Rose would have been more comfortable with him out in the rain. The Doctor sat so stiffly, taking care that he didn’t touch her. Instead of stretching his legs out, he folded them in a way that had to be uncomfortable. Holding back the tears that stung the corners of her eyes, Rose pressed herself into the side of the carriage as they rolled on.

 

For awhile, Jack tried to initiate conversation, but the Doctor only gave monosyllabic answers. Rose made an effort for awhile, but every time she spoke, she could see the Doctor tense, so she, too, lapsed into silence.

 

The rain droned on outside the window, muting color and sound. Rose hadn’t been sleeping well lately, but she didn’t think the Doctor had slept at all. And, in the silence and warmth of the carriage, with its gentle rocking, the Doctor fell asleep. Rose watched him quietly for awhile. She tried to ignore how much it hurt that he wasn’t comfortable enough with her anymore to sleep when alone in a room with her.

 

The carriage jolted as they hit a pothole hidden by the rain. Rose nearly jumped out of her skin when the Doctor slouched to the side, using her as a pillow. He breathed in deeply, and the tension that had been in his face, even in sleep, evaporated. Rose was frozen by indecision. She should push him away, wake him up. But he’d been so distant that she craved the trust he was showing in his sleep. Before she could make a decision, the Doctor’s arms snaked around her waist, pulling her against him. Her name was whispered into her neck. Rose knew she flushed crimson.

 

“Well,” Jack murmured so as not to wake the Doctor. “He seems to know what he wants. To have and to hold as it were.”

 

Rose wanted to tell Jack to shut up, but she had no grounds to do so, under the circumstances. She also wanted to melt into the floor. But mostly, she wanted to know what the hell was going on in the Doctor’s head.

 

Aware that none of this was likely, Rose just shot Jack a warning look and settled into the Doctor’s embrace. She knew she was too far gone to do much more than take whatever she could get, at least for now.

 

 

Eventually, the roaring hiss of rain came to an end. The silence in its wake was nearly deafening and the Doctor jerked awake. Instantly, he straightened. If he even realized how he had been sleeping, he didn’t acknowledge it. He cast her a quick glance that Rose thought was full of longing, but it had disappeared so fast that she wasn’t sure. He opened the door and jumped out, sprinting forward to the driver’s seat and hoisting himself up. Rose knew if she had tried something like that, she would’ve broken her leg. It was an effective escape.

 

Jack shrugged in sympathetic confusion, and Rose slumped back into the seat.

 

  
The rest of the trip passed the same way, in cold distance. As soon as they arrived in the Vatican, Rose hurried off to return the dresses she’d been loaned by the nuns. Jack and the Doctor went towards the TARDIS to destroy the death crown that Jack had stowed in the carriage, and to properly secure the prisoner who had impersonated the pope.

 

When she reached the room she had stayed in, the Mother Superior was already there. Rose stopped dead in the doorway, causing the servant who was carrying her trunk to nearly run into her.

 

The Mother Superior smiled indulgently at Rose. “Keep the dresses. That Doctor of yours seemed to like them.” Rose opened her mouth to protest, but the Mother Superior kept on, allowing no argument. “Besides, making new ones will give us something to do. It does get so boring in here.” Rose stood, slack jawed, as the nun swept past her. Halfway down the hall, the older woman stopped and turned back towards Rose. “By the way, you’re living in sin.” She winked. “I’m required to say that. Now get to it, my child.” And, with that, she strode confidently down the hall. 

 

Uncertain of what else to do, Rose took her trunk from the servant, dismissed him, and headed down to the TARDIS. 


	6. Chapter 6

When Rose entered her travelling home, the Doctor was already buried in the bowels of the TARDIS, preparing her for space after more than a month of idleness. Rose whispered a greeting and fondly ran a hand along a coral strut. A warm, answering hum sounded in her mind. Without saying anything to the Doctor, Rose headed to her room.

No matter what the Mother Superior thought, there was no dress that could make the Doctor want her, or rather, make him act on the want he’d seemed to have two weeks ago. Rose was sick of dresses, sick of being smothered in cloth. She stripped out of the grey dress as aggressively as possible to undress. In an effort to cheer herself, Rose grabbed her favorite underwear set. It was a common design, black silk with a baby pink ribbon dipping in and out of sight, tying into a small bow between her breasts. Despite its simplicity, this bra fit as though it were designed for her, and no matter how tight the skirt, the knickers never betrayed themselves. She put on a pair of denim shorts and a tank top. 

After glancing in the mirror, Rose sat on the bed and stared at the skin which was being allowed to breathe for the first time in weeks. The room shuddered as the TARDIS slipped into the Vortex. When the shaking stopped, Rose saw that two tears had fallen onto her thigh. Giving in, Rose grabbed a pillow and curled herself around it, letting tears flow that were two weeks coming.

Footsteps sounded down the corridor. “Rosie,” Jack called. “We’re dropping the prisoner off in about fifteen minutes. Wanna come with?” His face poked around the corner. His cheerful look deflated. “Oh, Rose.” He crossed the room and sat next to her, pulling her into his embrace.

“He can’t make up his mind, Jack,” she sobbed into his coat. “I know I was stupid to hope that he might want me. That he might even love me.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“But he doesn’t need to be so cold,” she continued. “He doesn’t have to push me away so hard. It’s not like we’re not friends.”

Rose’s ears caught up with her brain, which was urgently waving signals at her. Jack hadn’t said a word since he’d crossed the threshold of her room. Which meant…

She looked up to see the Doctor standing in the doorway, a broken look on his face. Instead of embarrassment or sympathy, Rose filled herself with the warmth of anger. The Doctor had been calling the shots, so if he didn’t like the result, that was his problem. She pushed herself away from Jack and stood stiffly.

“For two weeks, you don’t say a word to me except to make sure we get on the road on time, and then that? You need to make up your damn mind, Doctor, ‘cause I’m sick of being jerked around.” Rose laughed bitterly. “You know the best part? After fifteen days of silent treatment for no good reason, the Mother Superior still tells me I’m- _we’re_ living in sin! And you won’t so much as kiss me!”

The Doctor’s hand materialized in Rose’s hair, holding her still as he crashed his lips against hers.His tongue forced its way into her mouth, teasing and coaxing her own into action before going on to take a full survey of her mouth. When they broke apart, Rose realized that she was clinging to him, one arm around his neck, the other on his hip. She was dizzy and out of breath, but she had the foresight to murmur breathlessly, “Jack out.”

“Damn,” Jack muttered, but he was smart enough to hurry out, closing the door behind him.”

“She was right,” the Doctor rasped.

Rose was too focused on the feel of his firm chest pushing against her to know what he was talking about. “Hmm?”

“The Mother Superior. She was right.”

“We still haven’t sinned.” Rose told him teasingly.

“ _’But I say unto you, that whosoever looks on a woman to lust after her has committed adultery with her already in his heart.’_ ” The Doctor’s voice was full of dark promise.

“I’m sorry?”

“According to Matthew, I’ve been sinning for months, now. And if what you said to Jack is true, so’ve you. So,” he dropped a gentle kiss on her swollen lips, “If we’re going to hell anyway, why not make the journey worth it?”

Rose shivered and pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat which was just peeking out of the v of his jumper. The Doctor groaned roughly.

“Why now?” Rose asked. “You could’ve had me any time, any where.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Seriously. Why Napoleon?”

“I didn’t know. I thought that you didn’t, couldn’t want a broken soldier. ‘Swhy I pulled back. Jack said he was doing me a favor, getting us back here, and then Napoleon chuckled and said that I didn’t have to pretend to be your guardian. He and Josephine weren’t nearly as prudish as royalty had been. They had decided that we were lovers. I thought I’d crossed a line. And I am sorry that I hurt you.”

“That still doesn’t explain the come-hither looks and the touches for over a month before hand. I thought at first I was going mad, because you’d never shown interest at all before.”

The Doctor shrugged uncomfortably. “Simple answer? It was the dress.” Rose stared at him incredulously. The Doctor cleared his throat. “You’ve never been so plainly, so austerely dressed. But when you were hidden from my sight like that, all your color suppressed beneath your skin, that was when I realized how much I need you to spread your warmth into my life, and how much I want you bared to me.” His eyes were dark and enticingly fathomable. Just me.”

Rose licked her lips. “Bared?” she whispered, warmth beginning to pool between her legs.

The Doctor’s nostrils flared, and his eyes widened. “Body and soul, Rose.” His thumb traced her lower lip, and her tongue darted out to taste it.

“You, too,” she told him simply. “You only get me if I get you.”

She saw the Doctor swallow, hard, “Yes,” he hissed, claiming her lips once again in a slow, sensual exploration. Rose chased him back into his own mouth, where she began to categorize every detail: the moan that rumbled in his chest when she tickled the roof of his mouth, his shiver when her tongue curled around his, and the sharp buck of his hips when she traced the shell of his ear with her fingernail. 

Tearing his lips from hers, the Doctor’s hands settled at her waist, his thumbs slipping beneath her shirt. “Rose,” he said in a tone that sent heat coursing through her veins.

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Tell me you’re sure. Just this once. Let me know you’re certain, and I’ll never doubt again.”

Rose’s hands met the Doctor’s and she pulled her shirt off in one motion. His throat convulsed as his eyes traced the outline of this new territory. Rose brought the Doctor’s gaze back up to her face with a tender touch.

“Doctor, I’ve been sure of this since I agreed to come with you. I never regretted that, and I could never regret anything that happens between us. Even if I got separated from you tomorrow, at least I’ll have the memory of tonight. I’d know you loved me.”

“I do, Rose. You must know that.” 

Rose smiled gently to calm the look of desperation in his eyes. “And I love you. Which is why I’m sure, absolutely positive that I want this. I want you.”

Eyes over-bright, the Doctor nodded. This kiss was chaste, almost reverent until Rose sucked his lower lip between her teeth for a playful nibble. The Doctor groaned and set about to devour her. His hands skimmed up the bare skin from her waist, skirting past her breasts, around behind her to pull her flush against him.

Only then did Rose drag herself away from the otherworldly flavor of the Doctor’s mouth. She scattered kisses on his throat, already too intoxicated by his taste to create any sort of pattern.

The Doctor let go of Rose long enough to shuck his leather shell and to peel his jumper off as well. Rose’s hands on his bare stomach pulled the Doctor to a shuddering stop. She explored the smooth, cool skin that stretched over rangy muscles.

“Rose,” he panted. She ignored him with a playful grin and lowered her head to lap at his nipple. “Please!” he grunted, pulling her hips against his to grind roughly together. Rose thrilled to know the effect she had on him. Her teeth grazed against the hardened nub. One of his hands snaked back to squeeze her bum while the other began to knead her breast through her bra. Rose shifted her attention to his other nipple One of her arms twined behind his neck and stroked the shell of his ear. The other grabbed the hand that was toying with her breast and guided it back to the clasp of her bra.

Ever quick on the uptake, the Doctor quickly unfastened it, and Rose let it fall to the ground. The Doctor took a step back and let his eyes take over her form; drinking in the sight of her swollen lips, flushed skin and taut nipples that strained towards him.

Standing patiently for some minutes, Rose watched the Doctor’s face as he explored the new territory. She was proud of herself that she only glanced and the bulge in his trousers occasionally.

Finally, she could take it no longer. His heated gaze was practically palpable, and yet it was infuriatingly insubstantial. “Doctor.” Her voice was lower than she had ever let him hear before. His eyes darted up to hers. Whatever he saw there must have been all the invitation he needed.

The Doctor closed the space between them, his work roughened hands splayed over her breasts. He whispered in Rose’s ear, “I’m goin’ ta make you scream,” before nibbling on her earlobe, causing Rose to shiver deliciously. He pushed her back until she was forced to sit on the edge of her bed. 

Before she could reach for him, he knelt before her, deftly removing her shoes and socks. His hands slipped up her bare legs and along the inside of her thighs until he reached the hem of her denim shorts. Pressing a finger to her sex through the thick fabric, the Doctor teased her. Despite the cumbersome cloth, the Doctor’s clever fingers searched for her clit. Rose’s hips bucked of the bed when he found it.

He swiped it again, harder, and Rose could feel the tension beginning to build. Her internal muscles clenched at nothing as her body strained for release. She couldn’t stop the cry of loss when he pulled his hands off of her. He fumbled at the clasp of her shorts, pulling open the clasp and yanking down the zip. He hooked his fingers under the soft satin of her knickers and, with a bit of help from anxious wriggling, he bared Rose to his gaze. He stood to take in the view, his face a picture of gob smacked wonder. 

Nostrils flaring, the Doctor closed his eyes, breathing deeply of the scent of her desire for him, heavy in the air. “I’ve waited far too long wishing for this sight.” He whispered. “My Rose, naked and unashamed. S’more than I let myself wish for.”

In his moment of reverent inaction, Rose sat forward and quickly undid his belt. She slipped her hands down the front of his trousers.

“Oh, God,” Rose moaned when her hands found the smooth skin of his straining erection rather than cloth. She rubbed against it, learning the deceptive softness of the skin and the hardness beneath it. The Doctor groaned, his head dropping back. His movements were clumsy and dreamlike as he unfastened his jeans while she continued her ministrations. Freed from its denim cage, the Doctor’s cock sprang into Rose’s hand. She pumped its length a few times before wrapping her free hand around behind his bum and pulling him towards her. Before he could react, she dipped her head and licked the bead of pre-come where it oozed from his head.

A choked sound which may have been her name fell from his lips. In response, she pulled him into her mouth. Swirling her tongue around his head, Rose suckled lightly while continuing to pump his shaft. The Doctor began to pant as she brought her free hand up to caress his balls and increased her suction.

Rose,” the Doctor ground out. “I’m gonna…oh gods, yes.” Rose glanced up to see her Doctor frantically grasping for the last threads of his control. For everyone else, he could be the Oncoming Storm, or the Destroyer of Worlds, but for Rose he was just her Doctor, and she wanted to see him lose control for her. She smirked up at him, loving this power that she alone had over him. 

“No, Rose, you gotta stop,” he pleaded. Rose hollowed her cheeks as she sucked harder still, her head bobbing to take him deeper, her hand tightening around his shaft. 

With a shout, the Doctor came, his tangy seed shooting into her mouth. She swallowed greedily around him, pulling from him every drop before she let him fall from her lips.

The Doctor dropped to his knees before her and devoured her in a bruising kiss. “My Rose,” he whispered against her lips while she tried to catch her breath. “Lie back for me.” The heat in his voice made Rose shiver as she scooted back to obey him. The Doctor stripped his boots, socks and jeans off. A muffled clank signaled his belt hitting the floor, weighted by the black denim.

Joining Rose on the bed, he stalked on hands and knees up her prone form, scattering kisses as he went. Lips tickled her knee, teased her breast, and worshipped her mouth, but he avoided where Rose needed him most. 

Grabbing one of his hands, Rose guided it down to her sodden curls. The Doctor chuckled against her lips. “Impatient are we?”

“I’ve been waiting longer than you,” she told him, gasping when he dipped one finger between her labia to glance against her clit.

The Doctor smirked at her, knowing her game. “That is entirely your own fault, you minx.”

Rose grinned smugly. “I know.”

He kept his touch light, more than enough to arouse, but not enough to give her release. Thoroughly frustrated, Rose pushed into his touch, seeking more pressure, but the Doctor anticipated her and pulled his hand away.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chided, pressing down on her clit with each syllable.

Rose decided she wasn’t above begging. “Doctor, please.”

“Please what?” the Doctor asked with a sinful smile.

Unable to find it in her to be embarrassed, not with the Doctor, Rose answered in something resembling a whimper. “Please make me come.”

With a look of wicked glee, the Doctor moved down her so that his face was only inches above her curls. Rose’s eyes widened and she licked her lips, watching as be examined the gleam of her juices on his fingers. His tongue darted out to sample her taste and then he sucked them into his mouth with every sign of enjoyment. When he released the digits, Rose remembered to breathe.

With the fingers he had just cleaned, the Doctor spread her lips and soothed the raised nub with his cool breath. Finally, he lapped at her clit. Rose stiffened and then melted under his assault. Teeth grazed her sensitive flesh as he sucked her into his mouth and plunged two fingers into her opening.

“Oh, God.” Rose groaned; her internal muscles clenched around him, needing more. He withdrew the fingers and added a third before thrusting them back in. And again. And again. 

Sparks already fizzled beneath Rose’s skin when the Doctor pushed his fingers into her dripping pussy once more and then curled them. Rose felt her toes curling in response to his fingers pressed against her g-spot. “Doctor,” she pleaded.

One more time and she was flying, his mouth and fingers the only things tethering her to reality, even as they sent her higher.

When the world reasserted itself, Rose noticed a slight pain in her throat. The Doctor chuckled with a look that put Rose in mind of a cat that had gotten a canary in cream sauce. “Told you I’d make you scream,” he told her darkly.

Bending his head again, the Doctor licked the full length of her slit. He chased her juices to their source, his tongue delving as deep into her as it could. His velvet moan at her taste coupled with his tongue searching for more of her caused lust to flare up again in Rose.

“Doctor,” Rose said with a touch of command in her voice. The Doctor shivered; she’d have to explore that later. He stopped his attentions and met her gaze with a small pout. “Come here,” Rose ordered with a look of invitation.

Grinning, the Doctor brought his face level with Rose’s. She could still taste the Doctor’s seed, and when his lips met hers, she could taste herself and him mingle in erotic ambrosia. Her hand snaked down the Doctor’s torso until she found his penis was hard again.

“Fuck me,” she whispered against his lips.

The Doctor pulled one of her legs over his hips so that he was nestled at her opening. A moment of tenderness flashed between them before he entered her.

“You’re perfect.” He moaned while Rose bit back a curse. He was still for a moment, trying to be gentle, but Rose didn’t want gentle; she wanted him in all of his fierce passion. She hooked her other leg around his hips and pulled him farther in. The Doctor’s eyes widened before slamming shut. He bucked against her, his pelvis rolling against her clit. When he opened his eyes again, Rose could see him, all of him. There was an almost angry love glaring down at her, hot and jealous and possessive. Rose met it with loving acceptance. She could see his fears breaking.

Haltingly, he withdrew and then plunged back in. Rose moaned her approval. His lips sealed over hers, searing her veins. “Mine,” he demanded.

“Yours,” Rose affirmed with a lazy smile. Again the Doctor withdrew and surged back in only to pause. Almost of its own volition, Rose’s hand caressed the Doctor’s cheek. “Mine,” she told him happily.

His eyes widened in surprise then he nodded with a twitch of his lips. “Yours,” he whispered.

After that, there were no more words, and all softness left their actions. They struggled together for release, grunting their desire, moaning their love, and panting their need for one another.The Doctor might have called her name when he came, but Rose never heard it as all she could hear was the blood in her veins singing of completion as she spasmed around him.

The Doctor collapsed on her, and after a moment of savoring his warm weight, Rose let him roll them both so she lay limply on him.

The soft brush of his lips on her forehead was the last thing she felt before falling asleep.

*

When they emerged from Rose’s room the next morning, famished, grinning, and all but joined at the hip, they met a smug-looking Jack in the kitchen.

“Have a nice night?” he asked cheekily, glancing at their joined hands.

“Oh, like you can talk,” the Doctor sniped cheerfully.

Rose got an uncomfortable look on her face and gripped the Doctor’s hand tighter. “Jack you didn’t really sleep with Napoleon did you?”

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” the Time Agent replied loftily.

“You’re no gentlemen” The Doctor reminded him.

“Oh, well, in that case, he snores.” Jack told them, grinning at Rose’s wide eyes. “And Josephine? Very imaginative. It’s amazing what she will do when given two men to play with.” Jack batted his eyes at Rose hopefully. She punched him in the arm.

With a glare at Jack, the Doctor led Rose out of the kitchen, only pausing to pocket a few bananas. When they were out of earshot of the kitchen, Rose leaned into the Doctor’s side.

“I don’t need two men to be imaginative,” she told him.

“No?” he asked, the foundation of a smug grin being built.

“Nope,” she agreed. “Want me to show you?”

The look he shot her was downright filthy. “By all means.”

Needless to say, the pope impersonator wasn’t delivered to his planet for quite some time.


End file.
